The Timetravelling Firewhisky
by editorofthequibbler
Summary: Hermione prides herself in never trying Firewhisky, after all she's a prefect! But the one time she has a secret sip...she goes overboard, and wakes up with a hell of a hangover...in 1943. Oh, and yes, Tom Riddle is much hotter than she imagined. Rated T just in case.
1. Prologue Thing

**Hermione wakes up from her first night ever drinking firewhisky, to find herself in 1943, Tom Riddle's 6th Year. It's so easy to be terrified of the evil, dark eyed prefect, but it's even easier to fall under his spell.**

**First Tomione fanfiction by me! Very excited...**

**Prologue: The Worst Hangover Ever**

Hermione Jean Granger had never felt more awful. The sun streamed down through her dormitory window, abruptly awakening her from a dreamless, heavy sleep.

She was not one to drink firewhisky, but last night had been the one, and only, time she had ever tried the beverage. It had been surprisingly nice, but of course, drinking 4 tankards of the stuff came with consequences, and now all she felt was extremely sick.

"Wand, wand," she muttered to herself, groping blindly at her bedside table, and falling with a deafening thump out of bed.

"What is this damn life?!" she cursed, retching slightly as her head hit the wood floor. She continued to flail around for her wand for the next 3 minutes, which felt like an age, when it was handed to her.

With a half muttered thanks you she mumbled an incantation, and the smog cleared.

"Oh. Hi...you...guy...you!"

Standing in front of her was a boy. He was wearing a Gryffindor tie and his face was a picture. He had deep blue eyes, and blonde hair swept across his face. He was undeniably gorgeous, but in a very quiet way.

"Are you the new girl? The Slytherin? Hermione Mandert?"

Hermione Granger was not about to say no. Where ever she was, it wasn't the current year of Hogwarts, because this boy was a prefect (there was a huge, tarnished badge on his red tie), and that was wrong because at this moment in time, at her Hogwarts, she was a prefect. Also, she realised she was in the Hospital Wing, which was extremely old fashioned, with uncomfortable beds and old fashioned pyjamas.

She may not have been Hermione Mandert, but she was a Hermione.

"Ummm...what's the year?"

"6th year," answered the boy.

"No, no, no...the year! Like, 1950..and so on."

The boy adjusted his hair nervously, and narrowed his eyes.

"1943, are you okay?"

It only took a few seconds for her to gather her senses. Hermione was very proud of her ability to think on her feet: 1943, right. Automatically mental brainwork kicked in. It was Tom Riddle's 6th year...god help her. She needed Dumbledore.

"Yes," Hermione nodded. "Yes, I am Hermione Mandert."


	2. Chapter 1 Honestly! I do HATE mudbloods

**Hey everyone! Hope you're liking my story so far... All rights to J.K, though Matt Harmony is MINE! MWA-HA-HA.**

"Thank goodness!" cried out the boy, which made Hermione jump with alarm. "Sorry, but Headmaster Dippet said to go pick up the new Slytherin girl and here you are! I'm so sorry that you fainted after your private sorting. It must have been traumatic, seeing as you've moved back here. What was it like in Austria? That was your last school, wasn't it?"

Hermione blanched, and struggled slightly to put on an Austrian accent.

"Yez, it vas very-"

"Wow, I didn't realise you had an accent: surely your parents living half their lives in England stopped you having an Austrian accent? And the teachers were mostly English, weren't they?"

Blushing, she nodded.

"Um-yeah, it was a...joke accent."

The boy grinned pleasantly and launched into his speech.

"Well, anyway, you're Slytherin! Congratulations! Well, being Pureblood probably helped..."

Here he trailed off and viewed Hermione with cautious eyes, sweeping his hair self consciously.

"What?"

"Well...umm...I'm not exactly," he murmured. "...pureblood. Like, I'm not muggleborn! Completely halfblood. Promise."

His eager eyes blinked up at her with a desperate longing.

_Ew, _thought Hermione. _I'm obviously a Pureblood muggle hater. Well, Hermione Mandert is._

She smiled widely.

"Can't choose your parents, ...um what is your name?"

"Matt. Matt Harmony. My mum was a witch, Pureblood witch, and my Dad was...um...muggleborn, but he's not with my Mum anymore. I live with my Mum."

_God, I didn't ask for his life story. _Hermione rolled her eyes and then jumped in surprise as realisation dawned on her. _He fancies me! Ha, he likes me. Cool. I've never...felt that...before. He's cute. But I'm Slytherin. Eek._

"Can't choose your parents, Matt," she coughed out. "Why were you sent to see me? You're not the Slytherin prefect."

Matt seemed to be vaguely annoyed at this statement, and he crossed his arms in fierce disgust and stuck out his bottom lip.

"Well, Rose Nott is currently throwing up over there. And well, the other prefect's...Tom Riddle."

Hermione's breath caught in her throat. Of course, he had been the Golden boy hadn't he?

"And?" she snapped, raising an eyebrow. "I don't see why he should ignore me!"

Matt sighed impatiently and leant forward.

"Listen, Hermione, don't get on the wrong side of Riddle. He's the big say-so round here, and he's a complete pureblood-"

_Ha! What a liar Tom had been!_

"-He would never come and see a new Slytherin, he's not that kind of guy."

"Who says that?" a new, silky voice questioned. "I enjoy the company of fellow Slytherins."

In one hurried movement, Hermione's head snapped up to see Tom Riddle standing not far from her. Her mouth nearly dropped open.

Of course, Harry had told her about the younger Tom Riddle he'd seen in his lessons with Dumbledore, but of course...Harry had missed out the part about him being the most beautiful thing she'd ever seen.

Tom Riddle was tall, he had a head of dark soft black hair and slightly pale skin. His closed smile was dangerous, but still melted her insides, and his eyes, though dark and cold, still viewed her with quiet interest.

"Eek," she squeaked.

"Hermione Mandert. I have to say I have never heard of that Pureblood family before. What an interesting name."

Tom was right, however. Hermione hadn't heard of that name either, and she'd done research.. Someone had obviously performed some fiendishly complicated spell to land her here. And, it seemed, to create a new identity. All of these thoughts played through her mind in a whirlwind, but she finally landed on...

"Haven't you? We're very well known in Austria, you know. We have several estates round Germany and Austria. And one here, in England, actually. In Yorkshire."

At this point, Hermione should have shut up before she made any mistakes: but her gut told her to keep talking, and realistic sounding facts about Hermione Mandert's life kept spilling over her lips in a busy rush of water.

"The one where I used to go home for summer, our main home, has a huge beautiful lake near it. When it gets extremely cold, the lake freezes over and we can go and skate. It's very beautiful, and there is always hot chocolate and gingerbread. When we go to Vienna, we have a lovely stately home just outside the city, and there is a restaurant, a bit like your Leaky Cauldron, but not an inn, and there is an entrance to a beautiful street. When it is winter, they give out gingerbread in little trucks with painted gingerbread men that move and chuckle. It is so sweet. But when it is Summer, the trucks sell flowers and pretty trinkets instead, and there are live fairies that hover around the street. It is wonderful. I am sure you would like it Tom."

And her hand was over her mouth, eyes full of shock at the huge eager detail of this fantasy life that she seemed to know so much about. Tom could have asked her anything now, and she would have answered it fluently, with complete knowledge. But Hermione Mandert could not be a real pureblood girl. There was no Pureblood family by the name of Mandert.

"Well," Tom murmured. "It certainly sounds fascinating."

An idea occurred to her as she glanced up at the nearby hovering Gryffindor prefect.

"Yes, indeed. Is there a mirror near you, Matt?"

A mirror was found, and handed to her. It was a little thing, with an edge made out of some tarnished metal, and a large crack running through it, but that not did not marr her reflection.

She sighed and silently thanked God.

It was definitely her. 100% the Hermione Granger she had always known. She seemed to be better groomed, with her hair less bushy and more, well, hair like. She supposed it was some sort of potion, but it certainly made her look good. She also noted that she was wearing make up, though minimal. The mascara, she realised, made her look a lot prettier, as did the touchings of red lipstick. But it was definitely her. Thin, bookish her.

She was relieved. She had definitely not swapped bodies with someone. That would have been just awkward. Well, unless she had some identical doppelganger. As far as Hermione knew, she did not have a doppelganger. Though, that would be pretty awesome, and something to put in the Hogwarts: A History next edition, she didn't wonder.

"Okay, great." She glanced over at Tom, who had one black eyebrow raised in question. "My hair. Just checking...to...um...see if it still was...hair...like?"

His expression had not changed, but she tried to ignore his disbelieving face.

"Checking to see if your hair was still hair like. What a valuable use of your, and my, time, Miss Mandert," Tom sighed, his half hidden black sarcasm edging every sentence with cold danger. "I wanted to ask you...rather, if I could get a word in edgeways, about your old school. And, how should I put this? If it was as full of _new ideas_, as Hogwarts so clearly is."

He was cold, but intelligence, as well as danger, seemed to shroud every syllable: and Hermione loved it.

"My old school?" she stammered. It only took a few seconds to get back into the flowing role of Hermione Mandert, who she seemed to know extremely well, even if she didn't exist. "It was in the middle of the mountains in Austria, so it often got snowed in. An all girl's school, you understand, so quite excluded from all traces of the male kind. There were no houses, and most of us were either half blood, or pureblooded. People such as myself. Sometimes they would let...the others into the school, but that was only if they were exceptional students, and I mean exceptional. They never got extremely high marks however, not compared to the rest of us."

What? These were not her words! But they came spilling out in a rush of convincing lies. A story that was so very intricate, yet not her own. How was she so sure of all these things?

"I do not know what you were implying by _new ideas_ but I can assure you that we had a strict rule of "only a few muggleborns." In our country of Austria, the girls would call them "dirtblooded." Is this the case here?"

There was a solid pause, and it seemed to engulf the very air.

"Mudbloods."

"What?"

"We call them mudbloods here," he whispered, eying her with some strange emotion glinting in his eyes. "I'm supposing you want to get changed and back to the common room? Me and...this Gryffindor will step out and you can draw the curtains. Then I will take you to the common room, to meet...my friends."

"Thank you," Hermione replied, with a slight imperious air.

She got changed quickly into the uniform that was lying on a nearby chair, silently eying the green tie with boiling anger. Her hatred of Tom Riddle fought with the interest that seemed to be growing in her lungs. There was no denying that he was wonderful looking. But, on the other hand, he was evil.

She thought about her need to see Dumbledore. She'd go look for the professor soon. She just had to remember he wasn't the Headmaster yet.

God, how confusing was this life?


	3. Chapter 2: Welcome to the Common Room

**A/N: Very excited about uploading this one! Sorry I missed a week, my updates are going to be pretty erratic... :) Hermione goes to the Common Room this time. **

**Chapter 2**

The synchronized footsteps echoed off the portrait scattered walls in the empty corridors, as Hermione eyed the boy beside her nervously. She had had no idea it was this late, just past curfew, she reasoned, brushing a lock of hair behind one idea, trying to concentrate on the endless corridor in front of her.

Tom Riddle definitely wasn't one for smalltalk. The last thing he'd said to her was: "Come" as he pulled her out of the Hospital Wing. He had been very strong. That being said, she was also feeling quite uncomfortable now, with him being the soon-to-be Dark Lord and all. She appreciated he was supposed to be the strong and silent type, but...

"So, Miss Mandert."

That jerked her out of her thoughts.

"Yes, Tom?"

"I suppose you've heard of the Riddle pureblood family?"

She had to stifle a giggle. Was he asking for humiliation? No. He wanted to tell her all about his life. The wonderful life of Thomas Marvolo Riddle, who was most definitely pureblood. But of course he wasn't. He was most unfortunately half blood.

"Um, no I'm afraid I haven't. Though, I have heard of the Malfoys and Notts and of course, The Noble House of Black. But not you. Riddle."

He stopped, turning to face her.

"Ah. It seems we are both cursed with unknown names. How annoying. But unavoidable, I'm afraid."

He was smiling, but his dark eyes showed no warmth.

"Eek."

"Indeed. Now, to the dungeons, Hermione."

Almost automatically, Hermione seemed to fall behind, her heart pounding as Tom led her to the dungeons. Had he figured her out already? Or was he simply being intense and Voldermort-esque?

The dungeons were dark, shadowy and grim, setting Hermione on edge as she struggled not to wail with despair.

Before long, the Slytherin Common room came into view. Harry had described it well: there were certainly green lights casting strange shadows and skulls grinning down from odd angles. At the centre of this all, was a huge green door, with an ornamental gold snake. It seemed to have some kind of green jewel for eyes.

"Mort," snapped Tom briskly, and before the door swung open, Hermione had only time to register one clear thought.

_French for death._

"Oh. What a green room."

The thought was out of her mouth before she could stifle it, and Tom gave her a curious look, raising one amused eyebrow.

It certainly was green. Dark green. Each mahogany chair was upholstered with the same coloured velvet, a quite nice colour really, rich and luxurious. Not slimy looking at all. There was a huge fireplace, just like the Gryffindor Common Room, but this one had little tiles with carefully painted snakes on them, which slithered and curled in their square of polished green clay.

A posh, mahogany table stood in front of an elegant sofa, laden with magazines and odd pieces of parchment. A huge radio blared out some kind of wizarding music, as one girl, tall and skinny, mimed to the words.

Everywhere, there were people. Lying around in uniform, they covered the sofas, chairs, floor. It was a crowded house, full of snobby looking people. Some of the boys were pretty gorgeous though.

Most of them, Hermione realised, were looking at her.

"Move, Zabini. I haven't got time for you to take up my sofa."

The aforementioned boy, lanky and tall, shot Hermione a charming smile before loping off to a nearby chair, shoving off the first year sitting there.

Swiftly, Tom sat down, picking up a copy of _The Daily Prophet _and flicking through the pages with a cynical smile on his face, completely absorbed, ignoring all glances.

As a blonde, beautiful boy with deep green eyes walked up to him, he glanced upwards with a cold stare.

"Abraxas. Come to meet Hermione Mandert, have you?"

Tom gestured to the figure standing there. She had not moved since she had first entered the room, feeling a wave of awkwardness consuming her.

_You are not Hermione Granger. You are a Mandert._

"She's come from Austria. An All Girl's school, quite famed I believe. Pureblood, Malfoy, don't worry. Quite a...character."

Abraxas' eyes raked up and down Hermione's body shamelessly, eying her up with a sinister grin, twirling his wand in his long fingers.

"I'll say."

"Hmm. You often say things Malfoy, but have no care for forming sentences. It is something you are cursed with, I'm very much afraid. The inability to form actual sentences. It's usually worse when you have consumed smuggled firewhisky. That, however, is understandable. Let's face it Abraxas, you've never been able to handle your drink."

Hermione was about to let out a cry of indignation about the whole smuggled firewhisky thing, when she remembered she'd drunk 4 tankards of the stuff last night.

_Hyprocrite,_ she told herself fiercely.

"Hello Abraxas," she smiled, watching the Malfoy's green eyes bore into hers. He wasn't quite as disturbing as Riddle but he was, as Ron so often said about Draco Malfoy, "a slimy git." He was also, like Draco, hot. But not in the same league as the future Voldemort.

"Hello Hermione," he replied, raising his eyebrows at the formalities. He was obviously used to girls throwing themselves at his feet. "Austria, is it? Very good."

A short sharp laugh came from behind him.

"Here he goes again."

A new boy, dark haired and slightly dark skinned boy stepped forward. He had dark eyes, filled with humour and disbelief.

"Talking in hardly sentences like some moron. 'Austria, is it?' 'Very good.' I'm Lestrange by the way," the boy laughed, holding out his hand. "Despite his lack of sentence structure, Abraxas seems to be one of the most intelligent in Slytherin. Unfortunate that, but how it is."

Abraxas scowled.

"Lestrange," he snapped. "Leave off."

Hermione watched the two boys very closely, weighing up the tension. She could sense a fight was about to break out, for no good reason. The whole of the Slytherin Common Room seemed to be laden with extremely beautiful boys. It was putting her off guard.

Tom saw her staring at the boiling anger that seemed to be overwhelming the pair, and beckoned her over with one white finger.

"Miss Mandert. Come over here."

Jumping about a foot in the air, Hermione turned to face him, opening her mouth as she did so.

"Eek."

"Hmm...that does seem to be your favourite word in the entire English vocabulary. You are simply a walking dictionary," he said drily. "Come."

Slowly, Hermione walked towards the sofa, where Tom sat in radiant glory. She watched him for a while, finally sitting down, and trying not to feel uncomfortable. It was hard to fit in here.

It was a while before he did anything, but eventually he handed her the Daily Prophet and pointed at an article.

"Your view?"

Surprised, she looked down at the paper. Her brow creased as she read.

**Magical No No**

_Another school found guilty of praising Dark Wizards, and learning dark magic. The Minister and German Ambassador have__refused for this wizarding school, also in Germany, to be allowed to stay open._

_The Prophet's not been told the name of the school, or the exact location, but this small boarding school on the edge of Germany has been shut down just like the two others in close by countries: one just outside Berlin, and another, an All Girl's School in Austria. The question is: why?_

_"__I'm not going to say exactly, but Dark Wizards have been a main factor: some of these places are teeming with dark magic, and there's been a lot of muggle hatred. We can't abide that. This Europe. This is our Union!" says our Minister of Magic._

_The German Ambassador also hates the Dark Magic that some of the schools are associated with._

_"__I don't want Germany to become a place of blackest magic. We are a good nation, and I want the best wizarding schooling system we can possibly have. First out are the bad schools."_

_What exactly have the schools been teaching? Reports of Muggle Torture, The Unforgivable Curses, and Extreme Punishment, are reaching The Daily Prophet. It's a relief that everyone's keeping a good grip on things._

_R. Backleshoot_

Below this there was a huge picture of the Minister for Magic talking at a podium and a smaller photo of a young girl mouthing "Crucio" with the caption:

_This picture is the truth for some schools, not just a photoshoot._

He was watching her.

"Are you asking for my opinion?"

She was not exactly sure what he wanted her to say, and chewed her bottom lip in confusion. Smirking, he shrugged, patting the newspaper with empty affection.

"Perhaps."

Skimming over the article again, she glanced up, eyes wide, and sweetly innocent.

"Well, I don't really have an opinion."

He laughed and pointed to a particular sentence, his smile darkly sarcastic as he raised one expressive eyebrow.

"..._and another, an All Girl's School in Austria..._" Realisation dawned thickly as she read out the sentence. Was he suggesting...? "So?"

Rolling his eyes, Tom Riddle put his hand over hers. But it was not a loving gesture. His grip was cold, metallic.

"Don't play me for a fool. I know girls, I've had them following me since I was 6 years old. I'm able to read you like a book Hermione Mandert, and I assure you, I'm going to find every little thing about you."

His face cracked a calm, dark grin.

"That was your old school. Don't act all pretty and innocent with me. There's more secrets to be had out of you Miss Mandert. And I'll find _every, single one_."

He terrified her: she knew he was completely empty of all emotion. He could, and would, kill her, if he wanted to. What was she supposed to do?

Leaning forward, she smiled sweetly.

"Oh, sweet 've got your fair share of secrets too. Why don't we share one time?"

And with a wink, she pulled from his grasp and stalked out of the common room.

"I'm going to see the Headmaster," she called over her shoulder. "See you soon!"

When she'd gone, far along the corridor and off to find Dumbledore, Tom still watched the door, with a calm, cold expression.

Half silent, so nobody heard a single word, he opened his mouth.

"I'm going to break her. Like a twig."

His vow was lost to the grasping air.


End file.
